After months of negotiating with Barstool and Dave Portnoy over the IP for Call Her Daddy, it’s impossible for things not to be tense and charged between me and Alex, and our resentment toward each other for being stuck in this standstill becomes more and more blatant.
I feel so worn down. We’re killing ourselves and our friendship by endlessly trying to prove ourselves on diametrically opposed points. I feel severed from the person I’m fighting both against and for. It’s too backward. And mics have been down for weeks. We need to come back alive.
I ask Alex to FaceTime me and remind myself to be nice. I tell her we can stay: “I can’t do this anymore. I just don’t want to roll over on all the points.”
She sounds relieved.
“No, one hundred percent, totally, yeah. We’re going to make sure we get everything we need.”
I get the call from my and Alex’s lawyer Bruce.
“Alex is requesting separate representation,” Bruce says.
“OK. … Like, you have to represent us as individuals and not as Call Her Daddy?”
“Well, I can still represent you if you want.”
“Wait, I’m sorry, I’m so confused. Why would you all of a sudden not represent me? We’ve been doing this for months.”
“So, when there’s joint representation and one person decides to seek separate counsel, sometimes people feel it’s … I don’t know, uncomfortable or unfair to use a person they once shared,” Bruce says.
“So Alex got her own attorney — she’s not working with us or you anymore?”
“That’s correct, but it’s up to you if you want to continue.”
I can’t see straight. I feel a pit of fear opening inside me and try to think it away. Maybe separate counsel is smart. We let our lawyers handle it. They can have the tough conversations on our behalf. That’s actually better. We focus on the show, the partnership; we don’t have to live in the intensity anymore. Bruce’s calling again.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Sofia, one more thing and then I’ll send over that form for you to sign. I reviewed Alex’s contract. Remember you guys told me you had the same agreement, so I was just working off yours, but what was the basis for her higher compensation?”
I feel like I’ve been told someone died.
“As in, she’s making more money than me?”
“Yeah, is that not something you’d talked about?”
“No.”
“Understood.”
I’m silent.
“Do you not think that’s weird she lied to you about it?” I press.
“Well, it’s something to keep in mind …” Bruce trails off.
His unwavering neutrality is off-putting now. His lack of bravado also. But I am putting it in a box for later. I’ll think about it then. I don’t know what else to do.
All rationality is gone. The bitch. I feel pure hatred. I might combust.
Who is this person? Alex, who is she? Am I stupid? Gullible? Dumb? Naive? Living something that wasn’t true? That’s not true? Was she ever my friend? She was! I saw it. I felt it. I live in her apartment. Our apartment. I take the train to work with her, and then I sit next to her at work, and then I take the train home with her. Together. And then we go to Bubby’s and order pancakes if we feel like it. I’ve seen her cry. She’s seen me. Really seen me.
How long has she been carrying this secret? Am I so bad she was scared to tell me? And still is? But this secret is so …small. Who cares? She knows I wouldn’t, if she’d just told me. What was so bad about it that she’d lie to our attorney? Send him into meetings like the village idiot?
I think about every contract conversation we’ve ever had. Jokes. How we share every single fucking thing with each other — space, time, emotions, work, pain, highs, shame, heartbreak, family. Alex wouldn’t do this. Lie about something so stupid. To me.
When did she start making more money? Why wouldn’t she just tell me about it? Not just as a friend, but while we’re sitting in meetings and calls for six months fighting for fair pay. As CO-OWNERS. Why is she doing this? What is the truth?
Muji, Alex’s best friend from high school, the Milfhunter. He’s the only person who can answer my questions, if he’ll even answer my call.
We’re on bad terms right now. But are we, really? Alex is the one who fired him. Regardless, if I were him, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either. But who can I talk to? Alex is out of reach now, she’s literally not responding to me, but even if she was, can I trust her at all?
Who is this person? I’m confused and angry and disturbed.
What is real?
Our walks to get pizza, adding red pepper flakes, her skinny wrists bobbing up and down; her legs sprawled out on our new couch, seeing her head cock back in the light of her computer, cackling for hours; doing every single load of laundry together in the 301 basement, half fucking around, half genuinely scared we were going to be murdered; dancing in the living room to Demi Lovato and Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood and Hannah Montana.
Was it all fake? Or is dumbass Bruce fake? I’m dropped into a panic attack, all my memories flashing violently in front of me, only to suddenly vanish while I sink into a sea of dread.
I try not to drown by repeating things that still feel true, like that calling Muji would be a betrayal to Alex. Our trust is broken, but there must be a reason she lied. There will be an explanation, and I don’t want to commit treason in the process of finding it out. But I can’t live with this mindfuck for another minute without answers.
Muji sends me to voicemail twice, and then picks up. “Whaddup?”
Why does he insist on always acting so unbothered? What is this tactic?
“Oh, I don’t know, Muji, you used to work at the Barstool office, right? I’m sure you’ve heard a thing or two about what’s been going down.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Fucker.
“I have no one else to talk to about this.”
“About what?”
“About what? You know exactly what. About ALEX.”
“Sorry, but I can’t help you.”
“Seriously, Muji?”
“I mean, I feel bad, but at the end of the day, I really can’t.”
“Did you know about her raise? Like 20K more than me?” I blurt out. Last-ditch effort.
“Look, I really wish I could help you …”
Click.
I inhale so hard from my Juul that the pod leaks onto my tongue.
Buzz. Buzz. It’s Muji. Back for more.
“What’s up?” He sounds chipper now. He might actually be insane.
“Cooper doesn’t have friends. I’ve watched it happen since high school, you know what I mean?”
I need him to stay on track. “Did you know she was making more money than me?”
“I knew the whole time.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell me? I wouldn’t even be mad if she had a bonus or something. I’ve said that to her face!!”
“She didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to know she tried to get you fired.”
We stay on the phone for another hour, maybe more. I have no sense of reality, much less of the time. Muji tells me Alex has even reached out to him recently, asking him to come on as a producer. Hire him back?? Has she been anticipating a switch-up?
He tells me this shit started years ago.
I feel like I need to purge the last two years of my life. I want to wash myself from the inside out. All of my memories are violated. Do I need to get my sight checked? What did I miss? It’s not just the last few months. There were secrets even at the peak of our friendship. I thought Muji would give me an answer to today, to our battle with Dave and where to go next. But I know now it goes even further back.
Is this who she is? I think about all the times I thought we were sisters, all the moments when it felt like the energy of the world could be generated from us ping-ponging off each other alone. Where did that girl go? Who am I without her?
Muji ends the call by repeating that he saw it all coming and hangs up. I’m in shock. No moves left, besides throwing my phone at the wall as hard as I can.
Excerpted from Daddy Issues by Sofia Franklyn. Copyright 2026 © by Sofia Franklyn. Reprinted by permission of Simon & Schuster, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, LLC.
This story appeared in the Oct. 21 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. Click here to subscribe.